I could write about the recent debates around the Federal Marriage Act (I probably will later but not right now), I could write about how Weezie from the Jeffersons moved on up, or how sick I am of hearing about Kobe Bryant, or "Queasy" Mfume's dumb and typically calculated remarks on behalf of the NAACP. I could discuss the theory of relativity, the war on Iraq, or the current lack of leadership in the Philippines. I could finally finish and proofread my dissertation on not-being a Republican or write about the other fifty some odd topics I have lined up for this site, but today I won't. Right now I am going to talk about shopping and my addiction to buying shoes, the anger I feel when my lipstick melts in the sun, my love for ridiculously priced designer jeans, and the strange "peace" and solace I feel when I wander through the mall. Or how about the fact that every now and then, when I don't feel like thinking, processing, or analyzing, I indulge myself on Sunday evenings by watching my nemesis, MTV's Punk'd in re-run, laughing very hard and eating an entire large Canadian-bacon pizza by my lonesome, all while reading pointless magazines none of which contain the words "U.S., Today, World, News, or Week" with articles who peak in profundity when they outline the best forms of leg hair removal. Here's a tip: waxing hurts. Even in the midst of all this, I still manage to feel good about myself, and I still consider myself a half-way decent and intelligent human being. Every now and then, I reserve the right to vent.

Today I am going to talk about a subject I've toyed with in my head for quite some time. That is, being female and being intelligent. Before the "tomboy's" get all bent, let me just say that my intent here is not to stereotype anyone. I realize that the spectrum of womanhood is deep and wide so forgive me in advance if I pigeon-hole anyone. After all, you know how I feel about those labeled boxes.

This is a subject rather dear to my heart since I am most definitely female, and dare I venture to say I am somewhat intelligent (most of the time). So I have this problem, although I'm not sure what it is but maybe you can help. My dilemma is best outlined in a brief story I'd like to share:

The summer of my junior year, my best friend Alyssa and I took a trip to Washington, D.C. The trip was multi-faceted. I visited some relatives in Pennsylvania and Maryland, and the both of us were on a mission to check out Georgetown University, George Washington University, Howard University, UPenn and Temple University. It was an action- packed two week trip, most of which was spent in our nation's lovely capitol.

After a few adventures, the worst of which included getting stuck on the Beltway (a heinous work of engineering if you ask me), and included crying, sweating, and cautiously used Christian-profanity, we'd managed to successfully pick apart every university within a 120 mile radius. Alyssa decided if accepted, she'd attend Georgetown. I wasn't as impressed and remained pretty neutral on which school I'd choose.

After tasking intensely, the remainder of our trip left lots of time for sight-seeing and profound historical learning. We'd both been to Washington a number of times so the Capitol Building, the White House, Washington monument and the Holocaust Museum didn't interest us much. I wanted to go shopping and eat ice cream. So I'm certain you can understand my excitement when my aunt with whom we were staying mentioned we should check out the Mall. Needless to say, wrong mall.

The best time of the entire trip was not the time we spent immersed in the history of Washington, the buzz of politics at the Capitol, or the guided tours of the top universities. No, it was the day Alyssa and I, along with my cousin, who's also fluent in French, and some well-saved spending money and allowances, rode the train into Georgetown and hit up every shoe store East of the Mississippi. Nevermind that we managed to only speak in French the entire time, when we returned at the end of the day with shopping bags in hand, I had this feeling as though we'd done a great disservice to womankind. We chose recreational bliss over scholarly aptitude and had the shoeboxes to show for it.

So what is it about our culture that makes a girl feel she has to act a certain way to be deemed intelligent? I consider myself a moderate girly girl who doesn't mind getting dirty or breaking a nail. There are times when I absolutely need my "non-academic" interests to involve the least amount of thinking possible. Does this make me normal, does this make me dense, does this make me a ditz? I could care less what the answer is, but somehow society's decided to define that for me. I read the work of many great female journalists and authors and increasingly disturbing are the comments from critics who feel the need to point out their shock of someone with such great aptitude. You mean a woman right? You mean you're shocked that they're women and intelligent right? I recently poured through the comments on a blog of a particularly insightful female writer. Every now and then I'd see someone write "wow, you've got beauty and brains! How rare!" Is it really rare, or is that the concept our culture's projected?

I struggle back and forth with this as many women do. I've always hesitated to post my picture in conjunction with my writing. Not because I think I'm pretty or anything, but because writing can be a lot more fun when people don't know who's behind the words. First impressions are a funny thing and I'm not sure what my picture gives off, but I would have rather not risked it. Then I remembered two things:

1. When I read, I like to put a face with words.
2. I don't care what other people think.

So after all that rambling, I'm hoping you see my dilemma. I reserve the right to be mindless every now and then and unfortunately, these days that gets attributed to my sex.

Posted by Ambra at July 14, 2004 3:12 PM in Culture ,Life